Tales from the Diner
by Valentaku
Summary: Sam feels that he doesn't know Gabriel very well on a personal level, and has devised a plan to force some back story out of Gabriel by taking him out on a date- to a diner- where they have no choice but to talk to each other. As the conversation comes to fruition, Sam must ask himself whether or not he is ready for the Gabriel's dark past as Loki.
1. Chapter 1

6:02 PM

Gabriel looked up and flashed the waitress a smile as she set down his enormous stack of pancakes.

"Just the coffee for you, Hun?" she asked Sam, looking at him through fluttering eyelashes. Sam had had just about enough southern bells and Georgia peaches, and was busy anyways.

"Yes. Yes, just the coffee." He said, snatching the cup away from her and slamming it down at the table, glad that it hadn't spilled. She frowned, putting her hands up in defeat, and clacked back to the kitchen on her pink heels with her notepad clutched in one long-nailed hand. Sam pulled a long, bleached blonde hair out of his coffee and nearly gagged. Gabriel looked up at Sam over his mountain of pancakes, and squeezing the last drops of syrup out of the bottle with a loud slurping sound, asked him:

"Bee in your plaid flannel bonnet, Sambo?" With a smirk. Sam was forced to chuckle. The pancakes and Sambo connection was funny, and very… Gabe.

"I'm just tired of these truck stop beauties trying to hit me up like I'm some kind of ..." He trailed off.

"Truck stop beauty?" Gabriel supplied through a mouth full of pancakes. Sam nearly growled, and pulled a piece of paper out from under the ceramic.

"Look- she still left her number on the _god dam napkin!_" he hissed, waving the offending object around in the air. Gabe pulled his chin in and smiled puckishly.

"Hell, if I had a phone, I'd give you _my_ number, Sammy. I guess I'll just have to give you one of these instead." He leaned across their table to kiss Sam, but the moose put one long arm out, and held the flirtatious archangel at bay by the forehead.

"Not with maple-syrup breath, Gabe." Sam said, crossing his arms. "And pancakes? At six PM?" Sam added incredulously. Gabe shrugged.

"A Tuck Everlasting reference, if you MUST know." Gabe said, looking at his fingernails but clearly very proud of himself. Although the sudden appropriateness of the pancakes was surprising, Sam still wanted to get a rise out of Gabe.

"Little Black Sambo? Tuck Everlasting?" he asked, eyebrow arched. Gabriel shot him a questioning gaze. "When I said you should read more, I didn't think you'd rob a southern elementary school." Sam explained. Gabe pouted but backed down to continue scarfing down pancakes. Sam took a sip of his coffee, and Gabriel frowned with one side of his mouth.

"How do you even drink that stuff?" he asked, gesturing towards the cup. Sam shrugged.

"Black." He said with a smile at Gabriel's disgusted face. "And without any angels messing around with it, either." He added, heading off an opportunity for a trick. Gabe snapped his fingers.

"Drat. Because telling the archangel not to do something automatically means that he won't do it. I had completely forgotten about that little clause." He said, irritation edging his voice. Sam laughed through his drink, at the way that Gabe's ludicrous facial expressions and seemingly unnecessary pitch changes made him… Gabe.

"So. Let's talk." Sam said earnestly, putting his arms around the back of the booth. Gabe nodded.

"Ah yes, this part. The part where we're even here in the first place. Can we just fast forward to the part where we're in a hotel room?" he asked, snapping his fingers and sending them crashing onto the bed in the room they were going to rent that night. Sam glared at Gabe.

"Send us back, Gabe." He ordered. Gabe lay back, and propped himself up on one elbow, meting Sam's glare with an impish grin and an eyebrow wiggle that almost made Sam forget he was mad. "Now." Sam added. Gabe took another bite of his pancakes.

"You're not always this much of a dom, Sammy. It's kind of hot." Gabriel teased, pointing his fork at him. Sam sighed in exasperation. Gabe forced the smile off of his face in an attempt to humor him. "What do you want to talk about, big boy?" Gabe asked, planting his elbows on the table and twirling his fork in his fingers. Sam noticed that one of his elbows was in a puddle of maple syrup spilling off of his overladen plate. Sam shook his head.

"I dunno, Gabe. Just- don't you find it a bit strange that we keep meeting up and…" Sam trailed off. Gabe looked up, eyes wide.

"Having the Sex?" he asked, stage whispering purposely loud enough to warrant glances from the other patrons. Sam looked down at the table and glared up through his bangs.

"Yeah, that. When, we don't even know each other. I know you're an archangel, I know you spent some time with the pagans. I know you like tricks-" Gabe nodded, grinning. "And you really like treats-" Gabriel nodded again, before picking up the now empty plate to lick syrup from. "Well, what kind of relationship is built off of that?" Sam asked. Gabe leaned back in the booth and placed his hands on his stomach. Sam felt a twinge of anger mixed with arousal- Gabe was trying to get him off the subject with flirtation. It hadn't taken Gabe long to figure out how to push his buttons, and the man (god?) had a habit of abusing this power. All of the time.

"Gee, lemmee think. _Dude_. How about… every bouncing buddy I've had since donning this sexy little meat suit?" he asked. He smiled expectantly at Sam, who shook his head to clear it. He was going to get past the wall this time. He was certain.

"I'm serious. _You_ know everything about _me_, Gabe, and you're still practically a stranger." Sam said. Clearly nervous, Gabe looked around.

"You let strangers do that to you? Wow, lucky strangers." He quipped, but his delivery was off. He didn't want to talk about this. But a nervous Gabe was if anything a cuter Gabe…

"Your still trying to seduce me, aren't you." Sam said with resolve, wrapping his hands around his coffee mug but looking down at Gabe with an expression that said that he'd won anyways.

"You betcha, Samwich. So, shall we get back to the room?" he asked, his fingers poised to snap them forward to three hours from then. Sam closed his huge hands over Gabriel's, and pushed it gently down to the table. He leaned in close to Gabriel's face, and found that he didn't find the smell of maple syrup quite as noxious as he once did.

"Sure thing. But I get a story out of it." Gabe weighed his options.

"Well-"he began, but Sam cut him off with a kiss on the lips. Gabe's eyes opened wide. When Sam pulled away, Gabe nodded. "One tale from the crypt, coming up, in about… an hour and a half?" He asked, and looked around the diner.

"And Gabe, don't zap me away again. It's a huge turn off." Sam said, tapping Gabriel on the nose.

"That hotel I took you too is a five minute drive…" Gabriel said, impatience edging his voice as he contemplated this, then looked at all the patrons of the diner. "Be gone, and be all ways away!" he cried, quoting Shakespeare. They were suddenly alone in the diner. Sam was speechless. Gabe was suddenly in his boxers.

"Where did you put them?" Sam asked, disbelief edging his voice.

"They'll wake up in their own little beds, Sammy. I promise I didn't harm a hair on their precious mortal heads." He answered, smiling as the stress melted visibly from Sam's face and posture.

"Well in that case, I've got two things. One, Midsummer Night's Dream? Now that's more like it. And two, get an undershirt on. You remind me of Clark Gable when you do that." Sam said, getting out of the booth and pulling Gabe up out of his seat as well. They kissed, and Sam wrapped his hands around Gabe's lower back to hold them together. When Sam moved one hand up Gabe's spine he met the stretchy fabric of a wife beater.

"I helped Shakespeare write most of his comedies. It was funny… "He paused to bask in his own joke. "See, it was one of my more long- term tricks. He got slapped with some_ pretty_ hefty copyright charges in the afterlife. And-"he stood up on tiptoes, squared his shoulders, and flexed his arms, making Sam look away and roll his eyes so Gabriel wouldn't think he found it funny.

"I remind you of Clark Gable?" he boomed in a comically deep voice. Sam shook his head.

"Flattery, Gabe. You should try it." Gabe appeared to mull this over in his head for a moment, a hand on his chin, then shook his head vigorously.

"Not my style. But aw, what the heck, how about this." He cleared his throat, and looked Sam in the eye, holding his hands in his own and speaking with false passion. "You, Sam Winchester, are the least hairy Bigfoot I've ever met. My hand to dad." He said, eyes closed. Sam pushed him against the table, and grinned.

"It's a start."

**First ever publication, so I am of course happy to recieve any feedback, positive or negative. I had some trouble formatting, so forgive me my trespasses. Thanks to RedPanda23 for being the best editor on the planet!  
**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello! Thank you for the wonderful reviews. I honestly didn't expect anyone to ever read this! This chapter runs a little longer than the last, and is no where near as cute, but fear not! the cute shall return in the next chapter. Hang in there!**

8:00

Several fevered hours later, Sam lay back on the bench seat of their booth. Gabriel lay half asleep on top of him, and he absentmindedly ran his fingers through the angel's honey colored hair.

"You know what, Gabe?" he asked. Gabe mumbled something sleepily into his chest, one foot searching for Sam's but unable to find it. Jesus, Sam was tall. "You, sir, owe me a story now." Sam said. Gabriel groaned, and forced himself up into sitting position, bracing his hands on Sam's torso. "Ow! Goddammit, Gabe, how much do you weigh, three hundred pounds?" Sam protested. Gabriel raised an eyebrow.

"What happened to flattery, pumpkin?" Gabe asked, purposely digging an elbow into Sam's stomach as he finished pushing himself up into standing position.

"You owe me a story, Gabe." Sam insisted. Gabe glanced back at the taller man, lying naked on his back, propped up on his elbows, huge brown eyes fixed intently on his.

"Well, gosh darnit, Sam. Fine. But why not talk someplace with a little more… mystique?" He whispered, scuffing the ground with his bare foot. When his foot hit the ground, it didn't hit the linoleum floor of the diner, but a Persian rug. Sam looked around the room, taking in the rich red and gold wall hangings and enormous four poster bed he was lying in, and then down at himself.

"I get that were in India somewhere… why am I in a sari?" he asked, incredulous. Gabe smiled, and wiggled his eyebrows.

"Believe, me, Sammy. I'd much rather you _weren't_ in a sari. But my need to humiliate you and your insistence on western modesty have to meet somewhere in the middle, don't they Samsquatch?" He asked, flopping down on the bed next to him with his short legs pointed straight up in the air as he wiggled the pointed toes of his silk slippers. He turned his head to face Sam and let his legs fall onto the mattress. "I done good, right, sugar?" he asked in a mock-southern accent. Sam grabbed a pillow and threw it at him.

"Stop being a dick and tell me a story." He whined. Gabe sighed, but pulled the pillow off of his face. He stared up at the ceiling, and began.

"You know about heaven's war. Lucy and Mike, having it out. Dad was at a loss, Rafael was pretty much being a jerk about the whole thing. I wanted out. _Sooooo_, I found a secret vessel, one that I don't think even dad knew about, and I hightailed it to earth. Around this time, a fledgling civilization was just starting to poke its head out, far to the north." Sam interrupted.

"The Norse, right?" he asked. Gabriel nodded thoughtfully.

"Yes, that's what we call them now. They were a fine, race, the Norse. Drinking, fighting, name-calling… and trickery. They're gods were more or less adequate, but when I came to earth, I noticed right away that something was missing. For all their capricious trickery, they had no god to support their misdeeds. So, I hooked up-_not literally, Sammy_- with this up-and-comer called Thor. We shared a little blood, did a little ritual, and boom. I was a pagan god, and he made off with some of my nicer powers. Jeeze, I had fun with them… You think that you've seen a beautiful woman? You've never spied Freya in the bath." The angel smiled at the memory. Sam furrowed his brow.

"I already know this Gabe. Well, aside from the divine peeping tom thing. But I want to know what kind of man you were!" Sam snapped. Gabriel, who had maintained good humor about the whole endeavor up to this point, seemed to break a little. A change came over his eyes, and Sam moved slightly away from him, a twinge of fear he hadn't felt since before Gabriel's staged death creeping into him as the sheets grew cold around the smaller man.

"Man? I was no man. An angel? Yes. A god? Undoubtedly. But never a man. You must remember this, Samuel. I was not who I am" He said. Sam was struck by these words, and settled back, letting weariness wash over him in the cool, soft silk sheets of the bed. Gabriel's vocal tone had taken on a deeper, more serious flavor- practically anachronistic in juxtapose to his usual manner, and he wondered for a moment whether or not he should have pushed this. The Gabe talking seemed to be a different being than the Gabe he had made love to mere minutes before. He was talking not to Gabriel, the archangel, but to Loki, the god. Whatever he had started, he knew there was no going back now. He closed his eyes to listen to the story, and Loki's deep voice, humming with honey-sweet skaldic magic, soon had him dreaming the tale as it was told.

**…**

Loki ran along the hilltop, a wolf with golden fur and hooded amber eyes, scenting the air with his nose and mouth. He felt her, the girl, and he knew that he would find her soon enough. Norway was beautiful in summer. The grass was golden and sweet as honeycomb spilled across the earth, and the white clouds like unspun wool trailed across the azure skies as tangible as the water and trees. To loki's wolf-sense, the girl seemed just as much a part of it as any of its creatures. She ran barefoot across the meadow in front of him, and her hair, so like flax he thought he could make out the threshers mark when it glinted in the light, flew wildly behind her. He looked at the woods she was running towards, and a smile came over his wolf-face. She had not seen him.

He crept along behind her, staying always close behind, and frightened off the other wolves that stalked the unwary girl as she picked her way through the forest. She was to meet her lover, a sturdy young lad of nineteen, with a head of black hair from a Finnish mother and a laugh that made Loki stop and take notice. It was not the laugh of a mirthful man, but of a jaded one, a cruel one. And Loki had no love for cruel men. Loki had heard the laughter when the Lover had talked of burning a witch- recalling the screams for mercy, the Lover had chortled with sick humor. Loki shook his wolf-head at the thought, and returned his focus to the girl.

He gently willed the trees to grow, the briars to shoot, the path to crumble, corralling the girl through the forest against her volition, until she arrived at a clearing of his own design. At the far end, a house lay, with thatched roof and pine beams. As she approached the house, he threw three wolves at her and stood watching her run from his place in the forest. He slowly walked along the tree line as they drew nearer, preparing for the kill, before lazily pointing at them each in turn, dropping them dead in their tracks with arrows in their hearts. Finally, slipping on the Lover's face, Loki strode from the forest with a bow slung across his chest.

"Hilda, _svete lytle Valkyrie_, are you quite alright?" he called, breaking into a run. The girl, who was crying, nodded, and fell to the ground. Loki picked her up, and began to lead her to the house. "You found my house, Hilda! Clever girl. Please, come in, you must be frightened." Loki crooned in the Lover's voice. The girl clung to him, and wept her thanks. He led her into the house, and closed the door behind them. She fell into a chair, and he went to the fireplace and pulled an iron pot from the embers. He poured the hot water into a mug, and handed it to her. She smelled sweet herbs, and raised it to her lips. "Drink, dear, drink. Tell me- how did you not hear those beasts as you traveled through the wood?" he asked. Hilda shook her head.

"I don't know! They flew at me like the wrath of the gods, and if you hadn't arrived…" she broke off again into sobbing. He held her closely, and she cried into his shoulder.

"Hush, _lylte Valkyrie_. I must go, but only for a short time, I assure you." He said. She cried out, and clung closer. Smiling out of her line of vision, Loki pried himself from her. "I must be off, my love. Wait here until I return, and do not leave the house. There is a witch in these woods. She knows many tricks and many voices. If anyone should come to the door, even I, you must call out 'move along, I am busy at my stove.' If they do not answer you with 'I bring the rabbit for the pot', they are not I, and you must hide away in the cupboard. Do you understand?" The girl nodded. Loki smiled, kissed her one last time, and then was gone.

About a mile west, Loki was slipping into the girl's face, rubbing it with mud and preparing tears for the girl's bloodshot eyes. When the illusion was complete, he ran limping to the door of the Lover's house, and began to hammer furiously. He came swiftly to the door.

"Hilda, my flower, how is it you came so late through the wood?" he cried, taking in Loki's ruined dress and face. Loki fell against the Lover's chest.

"Oh, I was captured by a witch, who lives not a league away in the wood! She was stealing little children to cook on a fire, and she shot three wolves who came to my rescue. My love, you must save them!" Loki sobbed in the young girl's voice. Nodding, the Lover called for his horse.

"Let me come with you!" Loki cried, imploring him with the young girl's eyes. "For she has many faces, and she may deceive you with mine!" The Lover considered this, then nodded once more and swung Loki up onto his horse. The men of the Lover's farm took mount as well, and they rode, at Loki's direction, to the thatched house in the wood. The Lover dismounted, and with Loki at his side, approached the house.

"Look- the wolves that died to save you!" the Lover cried. Loki nodded, and pointed to the house. The lover ran up the path and up the steps. "Open up, let me in!" the lover cried at the door. The girl, inside, began to run to the door at the sound of his voice, but remembering her warning, called out:

"Move along, I am busy at my stove!"

in a shrill voice. The lover looked at Loki, still wearing the girl's face, then back to the house. He bent low to Loki's ear.

"She cooks the children, even now! And she uses your sweet voice too!" The Lover whispered. Loki nodded.

"Kill her, my love."

Meanwhile, the girl, having not heard the safe response, had run to hide in the cupboard. She huddled in the dark and prayed. Outside, Loki whispered again to the Lover.

"Burn her, my love."

Once again, the lover nodded, and called that fires be lit about the house. The girl's screams were those of agony, fear, and confusion, and they went on for far longer than anyone there could believe. When at last they stopped, the other men of the farm had long since left and the Lover took the silver hammer from around his neck and kissed it. Loki stood up on his toes and whispered in his ear.

"You've killed her."

The lover smiled.

"Yes, Hilda, I have." He said proudly. Loki turned to him, and laughed, laughed in the Lover's own cruel voice.

"No, I mean_ you've killed her_." Loki repeated, this time in the Lover's voice. The Lover cowered before him, and Loki felt laughter bubbling up inside of him uncontrollably, coming from the girl's body in the Lover's voice. "You should really see your face." He said. "It's just about the funniest thing…"

**The dream sequence was meant to read like a fairy tale, though I felt it got a little droll...Once again, sorry about scary Loki. Things get better! As usual, I'm happy to receive feedback. Thanks to RedPanda23, best editor in Christendom!**


	3. Chapter 3

3:00 (AM)

Sam's eyes snapped open, and he lay staring at the marble ceiling, trying to process what he'd just seen. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and jumped.

"I saved her soul, Sam." Gabriel said in a soft voice. Sam felt warmth spread from him, and knew that Loki was gone. He wasn't sure how much this comforted him, however.

"What do you mean, Gabe?" He sighed, trying to sound exasperated but not able to hide the hitch in his voice.

"I put her soul in a tree before the fires started. She lived a long and happy life, I assume. She didn't deserve to die." Gabriel said, nuzzling the back of Sam's neck with his nose. Sam curled inward, shrinking from Gabriel.

"Why should I believe you?" Sam asked.

"Because I've told you the truth before?" Gabriel said. Sam heard an imploring tone in his voice, and felt his heart go out to the angel beside him. He nodded. The warmth that had returned to the sheets was comforting, he decided, and he rolled over to face Gabriel. Gabriel smiled sadly, averting his eyes, and snuggled down into Sam's chest, a sign that he was feeling much worse than Sam. Sam, feeling terrible for being cold, put a hand protectively over the scared god's head. He held him close. They stayed that way for a while, just sharing warmth and letting themselves calm down, like children after having a nightmare. After his heart had stopped racing, Sam said:

"That was scary, Gabe." In a voice that meant he wasn't mad. Gabriel nodded. "No, seriously. I'm not sure what to do with what you just showed me." Sam whispered.

"You forced my hand, Samma-jamma. I was just trying to give you what you wanted." Gabriel said whith false gusto, but the nickname was halfhearted, and Sam was surprised to hear that he was still shaking. He saw tears in the angel's eyes, and honestly didn't know how to help. "I haven't looked at those memories in centuries, for a reason. Sam, I'm not that anymore. I'm not…" Sam held Gabriel as close as he could, and waited. "Still love me?" Gabriel asked at length. Sam thought it over, and moved one of his hands under the sheets. Gabriel gasped, closed his eyes, and smiled.

"That answer your question?" Sam whispered.

…

9:00 (AM)

Sam decided that India was getting old.

"Let's go back to the diner, Gabe." He said, pushing the little man-god off of him and sitting up, blinking in the light streaming in through the art windows. Gabriel groaned, and sat up as well, swinging his feet over the other side of the bed.

"Where are my clothes?" Gabe asked, rubbing his mussed hair with one hand and searching the floor with the other.

"You're a god, jerk. Make new ones." Sam suggested. Gabriel considered this, and nodded, squinting.

"How's this?" he asked, and Sam looked at him. He recognized the outfit from Gabriel's goodbye glared at Gabriel. Gabriel threw up his hands.

"Never take hints, do you Sammy? Oh, well." Gabriel said. "The outfit I _had_ planned for you no longer makes any sense. Try this." Gabriel proposed. Sam looked down, to discover he was wearing his outfit from the day before.

"Isn't this a little conservative for you?" Sam asked, raising an eyebrow. Gabe stretched, arching his back, and shrugged his shoulders.

"I just feel like giving you your way today, Sammy." Gabe said, winking at him. Sam threw a pillow at him, and tackled him to the floor.

"Say, big boy- give me some time to rest up." Gabriel teased. Sam shook his head and let the godling up.

"I have other motives for touching you besides sex, you know." He chided, standing to his feet and superficially brushing off his knees. Gabriel screwed up his face.

"Like what? Driving a stake through this hopelessly devoted heart of mine?" he asked. Sam glared at him, and barked:

"Gabe" In a menacing tone.

"No references to my own death or your many attempts to perpetuate it. Got it." He said. Sam pulled him to his feet, and he stood with his hands on his hips, the fine blonde hair on his stomach and chest glinting in the sunlight. He looked absurd; a small, slightly round man standing with the authority of a god.

"Get some clothes on, freak." Sam goaded. Gabriel put a hand to his chest.

"I'm heartbroken, Sammy. Seriously- I might cry." He joked. Sam laughed as well, but remembered the very real tears from that night.

"Let's go back." He said again, looking around at the hotel room.

"Fine, have it your way." Gabriel said, pushing open the doors of the room and walking out, still buttoning up his shirt. Sam hurried to follow him, and stepped out of the hotel room into the Diner. The eatery had clearly just opened for the morning, and the smell of frying meat and bread wafted from behind the counter. Their booth, still unoccupied, waited for them in the corner. Gabriel glanced at Sam.

"Full circle, huh, Samsquatch?" he asked, sliding into the booth. " How's about we get some pancakes to start off the day."

The pancakes arrived and of course were perfect.

"You should really try these." Gabriel said, spewing flecks of chewed pancake in Sam's direction. "They're really fantastic."

Sam put his hands behind his head and stretched his back, still exhausted from the night before.

"Isn't it a little early to be eating fried cake?" Sam asked, raising his eyebrows. Gabriel scowled, and gesticulated at Sam with his fork.

"Now, let me get this straight, Sambling mound. Last night was too late to eat pancakes, and this morning is too early. When exactly is it an _appropriate_ time for me to eat pancakes and not upset your royal highness?" Gabriel asked. Sam opened his mouth, when an identical plate of pancakes appeared in front of him, carried by the same waitress from the night before.

"Hey, Hon. Hungrier than we were yesterday, huh?" she said breathily, fluttering her eyelashes. Gabriel nodded.

"You've got no idea, honey. This big boy over here? He burned a LOT of calories last night. Lots of sexual energy, if you get my meaning." Gabriel said with a wink. Looking scandalized, the waitress hurried back to the kitchen.

"Jesus, Gabe. What the hell was that? And what the hell is this?" Sam asked, gesturing to the pancakes.

"Well, she won't be bothering you anymore, right, Samwich? And I knew you weren't going to be adventurous enough to try these by yourself, so I ordered them for you." Gabriel said. Sam crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat.

"Fine. I'm not going to eat them." He said, looking Gabe in the eye.

"Oh really?" Gabriel asked, a devilish glint in his eye. Sam wasn't sure what to expect, when suddenly the archangel had a forkful of pancakes and was kneeling on the table, trying to force it into his mouth.

"Would you- please- oof- not"

"Come on, just try it."

"No! People are- stop it- just"

"Victory! Angel one, Sasquatch zero!" Gabriel cried, jumping up into standing position on the table. Sam glared at him, and slouched down in his seat, chewing the mouthful of pancakes that Gabriel had successfully shoved into his mouth. Behind the counter, someone was pointing at their booth and talking into the kitchen. The fry cook, an enormous man of about forty five, began to make his was towards the table. Gabriel jumped down off of it with a yelp.

"Shall I send them all to dreamland, Sammy? He asked, eyeing the huge man.

"How's about we deal with our problems like humans for a change." Sam suggested.

"And how's that?" Gabriel asked. Sam maintained casual eye contact with the brute coming towards them.

"We run." He said calmly, and began to sprint towards the door, jumping over the tables and chairs, bumping into other diner-goers. Gabriel, a grin on his face, scrambled after him, throwing money at the table as he lurched towards the doors. He joined Sam outside, and they continued running until they were around the corner. Sam leaned against a wall, laughing, and Gabriel doubled over with his hands on his knees, panting for breath but laughing too.

"That was a tad capricious for you, wasn't it?" Gabriel asked. Sam shrugged.

"It was fun!" he said, still laughing. "Come on, let's find Dean."

Gabriel watched him walk away for a moment, worry begin to creep into him. This was different- bad different- for Sam.

"Aren't you coming?" Sam called back Gabriel looked up, and smiled, running to catch up with the hairless moose. He had a sinking suspicion as to what was happening to Sam, but had to wait to be sure. He'd have to talk to Dean.

**Once again, hope you enjoyed this. More fluff and conflict on the horizon! As always, I'm happy to receive feedback, positive or negative. I'm hoping to begin updates every Monday night or Tuesday morning from here on out. Thanks again to RedPanda23 for being all things edit-y.**


	4. Chapter 4

When Dean Winchester woke up late in the day, he brought his hand to his face to rub the sleep out of his hung-over eyes. And was suddenly covered in shaving cream. Before he could comprehend what had just happened, his throbbing head was assaulted by a cackle of laughter, and he began to fervently wipe his face, trying to remove the shaving cream, but seeming only to make it worse. Understanding dawned on him.

"_SAAAM!" _He growled. He almost didn't believe it. Had Sam filled his hand with shaving cream while he was asleep? He wiped his face and hand off with the sheet of the bed, and looked down at Sam, who was rolling on the floor, laughing and red in the face. Dean was more puzzled than angry. "Sam, what the hell?" Dean asked, swinging himself off of the bed and walking over to give his brother a halfhearted kick in the ribs. Sam sat up, and was clearly trying to stop the flow of laughter. However, he was too out of breath to speak.

"It's worse than I thought." Gabriel said from behind Dean. Dean jumped, and whirled around. Gabriel stood, with his back to Dean.

"_What's _worse than you thought?" Dean asked, used by now to the coming and goings of the enochian race. Gabriel turned to face him, and it was his turn to laugh. Gabriel sighed.

"Don't be a little bitch, Dean-o. I took a nap when we got back to the room." Gabriel said irritably. He had a mustache, glasses, and pointed beard drawn on his face in black marker.

"Alright. So, obviously, something's wrong with Sammy." Dean said, trying to pull a straight face. Behind him, Sam, having caught sight of Gabriel's face, fell again into a laughing fit. Gabriel raised one marker-colored eyebrow.

"I suppose you could say that, Dean." He said sarcastically. "I think he was exposed to my old form for too long."

Dean leaned in close, and looked around, whispering earnestly:

"That's not something sexual, right?"

Gabriel backhanded him across the temple.

"Of course not, dipshit. I took little Samkin here on a dream journey into my past, and I think he spent too much time there. Some of Loki… rubbed off on him." He said. Dean nodded.

"Alright, then. So what your saying is that you cursed my little brother while he was tripping balls down you shady little memory lane?" he asked. Gabriel considered this.

"Colorful metaphor, though not entirely inaccurate. Now I think we have bigger things to worry about." Gabriel said, pointing towards the door. Dean turned, and saw Sam disappear around a corner down the street.

"Sunnoffabitch." He mumbled. "Do I need a shotgun?" he asked. Gabriel shrugged.

"Use your best judgment."

**This one was super short, and I'm not sure that I love it... If anyone still cares, when this mess is cleared up, we're going to meet Loki's kids! **

**At the diner, of course.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Okay guys, So I have divine writers block for this part of the story, and want to get back to the original feeling anyways... sooo don't hate me, but I'm ending this one here, but going immediately into a sequel, which picks up just after they fix Sam… I'm sorry, I know it's lazy, but I couldn't help but feel that working a case wasn't the point of this. Sorry… look for Chapter one of "Tales from the Diner 2" in the next few days. Thank for the support!**


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